


A Favor for Gloriana - At the Thin Edge of the Blade

by elrhiarhodan



Series: Gloriana'Verse [2]
Category: Elizabeth (Movies), White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elizabethan Era, Alternate Universe - Historical, Body Shaving, Bondage, Clothes Kink, Elizabethan, M/M, Pre-Slash, Shaving, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-13
Updated: 2011-02-13
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early Elizabethan Era Historical A/U - Peter Burke works for Sir Francis Walsingham, the Queen’s Spy Master, Elizabeth Burke is the Queen’s Mistress of the Revels and Neal Caffrey is a ne’er-do-well artist and courtier, incarcerated in the Fleet Prison for debt. The golden age has yet to flower in Merry Old England, and it’s going to take a deft hand to manage all the players that will keep Good Queen Bess on the throne.</p><p>Peter has rescued Neal from the Fleet Prison, but Neal does not come alone.  Peter requires that the fleas and lice which have travelled with Neal be removed before Neal is permitted into the household, and he hires two of the local ladies of the night to do the honors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Favor for Gloriana - At the Thin Edge of the Blade

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published as a chapter to the first story, I have decided to repost the chapters individually. Please note the original publication date has been set for this entry.

_**Grosvenor, Early August, 1568** _

Neal stood in the center of the inner courtyard, wearing nothing but a clean breechclout, his skin still damp and raw from the scrubbing he just had. At least he wasn’t cold. The seasons changed in the months that he spent in the Fleet. He went into the debtor’s prison in the winter, and now it was high summer. How many months? Four, five? Time had no meaning in there.

When Burke took him out of the Fleet today, it was as if the Archangel Michael had descended from the heavens to rescue him. Moz insisted on staying inside, muttering that it was safer. And if what he had told him was true, it probably was.

This morning, Burke came with a warrant for his release. The ten-pound debt to Dudley, that pox’d be-damned cheat, had been paid in full. Neal didn’t quite understand how – Burke wasn’t a wealthy man – but then he remembered that his wife was. They were an odd couple; she lived at court and served the pleasures of the Queen. He kept to the shadows, working for Master Walsingham. Neal had heard rumors that Burke and his wife were estranged. Given that this was clearly a bachelor establishment – rumor was probably fact.

In any event, it wasn’t his business. He scratched at his armpit. Despite the scrubbing with lye soap and the hot water that just about scalded his skin, he was still peppered with lice and fleas. _Ugh._

There was food though – two long low tables had been set up, and there was a pitcher of ale, a basket of bread and plates of cheese and cold meat. Some apples too. Neal ate sparingly – an apple, a slice of sharp cheese and the ale. Naked he may be, like the village idiot, but at least he was clean, fed and at liberty.

The sound of laughter, the scrape of furniture and Burke’s deep voice distracted Neal from his misery.

Peter Burke, together with two beautiful and rather exotic-looking women, came into the courtyard. They trailed by the elderly manservant carrying a large and comfortable chair.

“Here you go, Master Burke.” The old man set the chair down so that he was facing away from the sun.

He then came back with a wash basin and stand, and a large pot of steaming water.

“That’ll be all, Hughes.” Burke handed the servant a few coins. “You can spend the rest of the day at the alehouse. I’ll send for you if I need you.”

The man pocketed the coins, and looked at the ladies with some suspicion before catching Neal’s eye. He smirked and left, taking the food and ale with him. There was something going on, and Neal wasn’t sure he wanted to figure it out.

“Ohhhhh, aren’t you a fine looking lad?” The taller of the two women ran a slim, dark hand through his hair, and yanked.

“Ow! What are you doing.”

“Bend your head down – trying to see if you’ve got any nits in there.”

Neal complied – he had scrubbed his hair with the lye soap until he thought it would fall out. The manservant, Hughes, had cracked a pair of rotten eggs over his head. Neal thought he’d vomit from the stench, but the old man worked the substance into his scalp – muttering that it would kill the nits and the fleas – unless he wanted to be shaved bald. Neal had swallowed his gorge and let the man work him over, rinsing him a dozen times.

The woman pulled and raked through his hair. “Looks like he’s clean up here, gov’ner”

“Thank you, Diana.”

“But I don’t think the rest of him’s as clean.” She manhandled him again, lifting his right arm.

“Yep – got a few here, and probably on the other armpit. And probably in his cods too.”

Neal flushed with embarrassment. “I was in the Fleet. I couldn’t afford the baths there.”

“Awww, that’s what we’re here for.” The other woman spoke up. She was as slim as her friend, but with full lips and huge eyes that seemed a touch crazy. When both ladies stripped down to their under gowns, he decided it didn’t matter.

“Ummm – what are you going to do to me?”

Peter answered. “They’re going to shave you.” His voice was deep and reminded Neal of a quarry pool he played in as a boy.

“What!” Neal’s voice cracked.

“You have a choice – Caffrey. Lauren and Diana can shave you and clean off the pestilence, or you can sleep on the ground out here. I’m not having your vermin inside my house.”

Neal looked from the women back to Peter. It was hard to see the man’s expression. The brilliance of the late afternoon sun flooded down from behind Burke’s head. He thought of the soft bed and clean linen that undoubtedly waited for him inside the Burke manse and realized he didn’t have much of a choice.

“All right. Go ahead.”

“Gov’ner – we really should tie him up. If he moves, he’ll be cut, and yer not paying us to be barber-surgeons.” Diana stood there with her fists on her hips.

“Hmmm, you’re right.”

Neal thought he could make out a ghost of a smile on the other man’s face. What had he gotten himself into?

Lauren pulled out a rope from her bag and Diana started to set up the tools of her trade. Neal tried not to sweat at the sight of that long straight razor in those slim, elegant hands. The woman pulled out a second blade – this one about half the size of the first.”

She flicked it opened and gave him a toothy, evil grin. “This one’s for your cods. It’s Toledo steel, and the sharpest thing you’ll ever meet. One wrong move, and you’ll be fit for nothing more than singing with the castrati.” Diana made a bloodthirsty noise in the back of her throat.

“Move yer arse, Caffrey.” Lauren pushed him out of the way and tossed a rope up and around one of the beams that supported the grape arbor.

“Gimme yer hands.” The woman was bossy and Neal wasn’t too sure he liked the idea of letting her tie him up.

“Caffrey – do it.” Peter’s quiet command sent a chill down his spine.

Neal held out his hands. Lauren first wrapped a kerchief around his wrists. “To protect yer delicate skin.” Then she bound him. _This wasn’t so bad_

Until she yanked on the other end of the rope and his arms flew into the air, exposing his armpits and his unwanted riders. She tied the rope off on one of the pillars supporting the arbor structure and stood back, leaving him for the other lady and her blades. He grunted as he tried to keep his footing.

“Girls – be careful. Master Caffrey has just cost me a pretty penny – and I don’t want him damaged in any way.”

“Oh, we won’t damage him, unless he does something stupid. Like move.” Diana cackled.

* * *

Peter watched as the girls worked Caffrey over. He was a little sorry for the other man – Lauren and Diana were professionals in every sense of the word.

They liked being in control, too. Jones had come back with stories about the ladies – and their clientele. And big grin on his face. The tales left Peter cold – he was not a man who liked to surrender his will to anyone, but he could appreciate their inventiveness.

Neal though – this was a man who needed to learn how to be brought to heel. He didn’t think these girls were the ones to do it though. Caffrey – he was a wild card, and Peter had heard things about him, things that made him wonder.

So he sat back and watched with a studied indifference.

Diana was efficient. After stropping the razor, she worked Neal over – lathering his right underarm and carefully scraping the blade across the skin. She scraped, rinsed and wiped the blade, periodically stropping it to perfect the edge, and scraped again, until the area was completely bare. She poured hot water over a clean cloth and wiped the remnants of the soap away.

Neal’s eyes were closed. With his head turned and tucked onto his shoulder - he looked like some fey woodland creature that his Scots granny would have told tales about.

Diana made quick work of his other armpit and signaled Lauren to let Neal down.

She made cursory examination of the fine hair on his forearms and told Lauren to lather him up - the hair on his arms was full of lice. Neal held his arm out, resting it against one of the pillars supporting the arbor.

Peter met Neal’s eyes and let his lips curve into a slight smile. He was rewarded with a small rueful grin. The connection between them - one he had felt since the first time they had worked together - deepened. Everything else faded into the background.

Neither man seemed to notice when Diana started on Neal’s left arm, the sound of the razor as it scraped across Neal’s skin was a quiet counterpoint to the silent communication between the two men.

Diana cleared her throat, the rough sound breaking their connection.

She turned to Peter. “We should probably do his legs too - just to be sure that get rid of all of the wee beasties.”

Peter nodded, but Neal burst out. “Hey - don’t I have a say in the matter?”

“Like I told you before - I am not having my house filled with vermin. You don’t get to sleep inside until I’m satisfied. But if you would prefer to sleep outside…” Peter stared Neal down - having his legs shaved wasn’t going to be the worst of it. Before they were done, Diana was going to take that tiny sharp razor to his cods and his ass.

Neal’s lips twisted - not in a grin this time. “Go ahead.”

The ladies had Neal sit on the table. As Diana honed the razor again, Lauren lathered his legs. Peter couldn’t help but appreciate how long and elegant they were. Caffrey was built like young god - he might lack Peter’s size and breadth (a legacy from generations of stone workers), but he was no useless court fop or dandy, and it struck Peter that he was quite well developed for a man who had trained as an artist. He made a mental note to himself to look a little deeper into Master Caffrey’s background.

Neal kept quiet as Diana shaved off the hair on his legs, and a wave of sympathy overtook Peter - it had to be quite humiliating to have all such signs of adulthood removed. But at least Caffrey was a smooth man - no need to shave his chest and back.

“Now the fun begins.” Diana tossed the grimy contents of the basin into the garderobe. “Yer boy here is going to need to be held tight - otherwise I can’t be responsible for cutting him. We need to lay him out of the table. Will you help?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“You get to have all the fun and hold his prick and balls.” Diana’s eyes glittered, and Peter was reminded of Jones’ tales about the goings on in their house.

Neal spoke up. “I can hold my own cods, if you please.”

“No - you can’t. Yer arm’ll get in the way, and you’ll flinch and next thing you know, you won’t need to shave that pretty face anymore.” Lauren sounded almost gleeful at the prospect.

“Caffrey - you’ll do as I say. Lay down on the table and just relax. Lauren and Diana know what they are doing.”

At least he hoped then did.

Neal raised his chin, accepting that he had no choice and dropped his breechclout.

Peter did his best to keep his eyes focused on Neal’s face - and damned if the man didn’t know if the sight of him fully naked was affecting him, until he saw a flea climb out of his pubes.

“On the table, Caffrey. You’ve got vermin scaling your belly.”

Neal flushed bright red, and Peter was astonished to see that it literally started at his navel and climbed up his body - much like that flea.

Neal glared at Peter and laid himself out like a human sacrifice. The girls took their time arranging him to their satisfaction, long, lean legs dangling off either side of the narrow table.

Diana stepped back and retrieved a small pair of scissors, flexing them . “Gotta give him a trim before shaving the pubes. Ye may want to take yer shirt off before I start. Ye wouldn’t want those crawlies getting on ye, now.”

Diana’s advice was sound and he unbuttoned his leather jerkin, tossed it on his chair and then discarded his linen shirt.

Lauren looked at his bare torso with narrowed eyes. “If ye ever find yourself in need of funds, we’ve got patrons who’d pay well to be serviced by ye.”

Peter wasn’t sure if the woman was trying to provoke a reaction or making a sincere offer. He decided to play it safe - it wouldn’t do to insult her. “Mistress Lauren, thank you for the compliment. I will keep it in mind. If the need ever arises.”

The woman sniffed, she probably read right through his bullshit.

Diana, on the other hand, was couldn’t care less about his bare torso or anything else. “If yer ready to begin, Guv'nor?”

“What do you want me to do?” He was steadily avoiding looking at Neal - his face, his body, his groin.

“Take his cock and hold it down and out of the way.”

Peter swallowed. He didn’t want to think about the fact that this was Neal Caffrey - a man he’d been a little obsessed with for the better part of two years. It had been decades since his time at Oxford, when he fumbled and fucked with the other boys in the dormitory for the King’s Scholars.

He briefly considered fetching a pair of gloves, but they’d likely be in the way. So he tried not to think about what he was doing and took Neal’s penis in one hand, and his testicles in the other and gently held them out of the way while Diana sniped the long, coarse hair away from his belly and groin.

She directed him to lift Neal’s cock to one side, and then the other and Peter told himself it was like holding a small, newborn animal. A small animal that was getting steadily bigger.

By the time that Diana finished her clipping, Neal was fully aroused, Peter was sweating and Lauren was snickering like a madwoman. Diana stepped back.

“I think we’re ready for the razor. Peter - ye can let go for a moment. If you want to, that is.” Her face was blank but there was definitely a smirk in her voice.

Diana went to retrieve her tiny razor and the bowl of shaving soap.

Peter brushed his sweating palms against his breeches and willed his own body to stillness. At least he wasn’t wearing hose and a codpiece.

Neal shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

“Give me a hand up, Peter.”

He helped Neal into a sitting position.

“You all right?”

Peter grinned, trying to dispel the awkwardness. “I should be asking you that.”

Neal glanced down at himself, and Peter couldn’t help but look too. The man’s erection had subsided. A little.

“I don’t usually get this reaction around sharp objects.”

“Hmmm.” Peter didn’t quite no how to answer that.

Diana chose that moment to come back. “Whenever yer ready, boys.”

Neal winked at Peter and laid back down on the table, legs spread. Diana started with a hot cloth around his cods, which seemed to take care of the rest of Neal’s erection, and then used her hand to lather him up well, which, well...had the opposite reaction. Peter desperately tried to keep his eyes on Neal’s face.

But those lips … he had dark and dangerous thoughts about that mouth. Things that could get him hanged.

“Guv'nor?” It was Diana. “Are ye going ta help, or do ye want to trust Lauren to hold yer boy’s prick and balls out of the way?”

Peter looked over at the other woman - she had a look in her eyes that made him doubt her sanity and the survival of Neal’s cods in her hands.

* * *

If anyone told him at breakfast (thin gruel, watered down ale) that he’d have another man’s hands on his cock and balls before the dinner hour, he’d have laughed his arse off.

But here he was, in the sun warmed courtyard of an erstwhile colleague, getting his pubes shaved off by the abbess of the brothel next door. The whore who was supposed to be helping her looked like she’d prefer that his cods were cut off with the short and curlies.

So, his host and rescuer lent a hand - literally.

It was always a weird feeling - a man’s hand on his dick, but he really never minded it. There were milords who paid well to get their hands on him. He was discreet, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he had caught Dudley cheating at Maw - he could have put together the money to pay him back in a few days. There was a member of the Spanish ambassador’s coterie who had once paid him three crowns to suck his cock, and promised more if he’d let him have his ass.

He had balked at that - there was something in the man’s eyes that told him that he might find himself on the wrong end of a sharp blade if he went through with that.

But Burke’s hands on his prick were something else entirely. Master Burke was built like a rock, with arms that looked strong enough to break oak. But when he held him before, Neal was surprised at how smooth his hands were - a gentleman’s hands - and Neal’s dick was sensitive enough to feel the hard callouses of a swordsman. Not soft and clammy, like the Spanish courtier’s. Peter’s hands were hard and strong, hands of a confident man. A dichotomy.

So, he lay there, spread out on the table, trying not to think about Abbess Diana running a blade down his belly and up to his ever stiffening prick.

Strop and scrape and wipe, scrape and wipe - that sound would echo in his ears for a long time. It was different from when the barber shaved his face. This was a softer, slicker sound, nothing like the harsh kiss of the blade against his rough beard.

Neal’s thoughts were interrupted by the woman’s instructions. “Peter - ye got to pull his balls up tight now.”

Peter held firmly onto his cock with his left hand, and right hand’s fingers slipped underneath his sac and gently tugged his cods out of the way. The razor, with its long and deadly sharp edge should have been terrifying against that delicate area, but all he could feel was the slight calluses on the index and middle finger.

Neal bit his lip and stifled a groan. This felt way too good, and all too sinful.

He tried to concentrate on other things...the last chess game with Moz, a particularly humiliating loss. He also considered the information he learned from the crazy man - and how to best use it. He should tell Peter everything - but not now, not when his hands were doing things to him. Things that Master Burke was probably highly embarrassed about.

Diana poured a stream of warm water over his groin, washing away the soap and hair and hopefully all his unwelcome companions. She shoo’ed off Peter’s hands, and yanked his cock this way and that. His erection flagged completely at the rough treatment.

“We’re done - with yer front - the cods are clean. Yer going to need to roll over so we can take care of the hair on yer bum.”

Neal shivered - and not at the sudden chill in the air. Offering up his ass like this was not really to his taste – but then, he thought about how little any of this afternoon should have appealed to him, and how much he enjoyed Master Burke’s hands on his prick and his balls.

Peter gave him a hand up and off of the table.

“How do you want me.” _Damn, that was a foolish way to put it._ Lauren, who seemed to have descended completely into hysterical insanity, laughed like a jackdaw.

* * *

Peter was honestly surprised at his own willingness in this exercise to rid Neal Caffrey of his pestilence. Maybe it was learning that his wife was warming the Queen’s bed when she wasn’t cavorting with Dudley, or having to go through the humiliating ritual for the Quarter Day allowance - maybe he was just immune to shock now.

He thought about how good it felt to have Caffrey’s cock in his hand - first the softness, the smooth and loose skin, then the heat and the steady pulse as it filled with blood, the hard stiffness that eventually outgrew his careful grasp. Caffrey was well-endowed for such a slight man - his prick was as big as his own.

Peter knew this was dangerous territory - _here be dragons_ and he wondered if he took another step he’d fall off the edge of the world (not that that was possible - the earth was round). Playing around, fucking around with other men was a sure way to get his neck stretched. Particularly if his father-in-law found out.

But when he looked into Neal Caffrey’s blue eyes - not so unlike his faithless wife’s - he found that he really couldn’t care about the consequences. And to be honest - it wasn’t as if he would actually make any advances on the young man. He’s be as rejected a lover as he was a husband.

But still, it was a nice thing to have someone so lovely under his complete control.

Peter watched as Diana and Lauren arranged Caffrey over the long low worktable again - this time just his torso was against the polished oak. Lauren kicked his legs apart, shifted his hips and and adjusted his legs again.

“Master Burke - can ye help us? Yer boy’s prick is getting in the way again, and I don’t think ye want him cut.”

Peter sighed but couldn’t help a smile. Another illicit treat - he was going to have to apologize to Neal later, but for now - he’d enjoy the feel of the cock and balls.

Diana repositioned Neal this time, and she still wasn’t satisfied. Finally, she directed Peter to sit down on the table and had him to straddle Peter’s thighs.

“Boy - this time ye hold your own cods, and Master Burke - if yer so willing, ye to hold his arse cheeks apart.”

Peter slid his palms down Neal’s back, enjoying how the man’s skin and muscles reacted - rippled like his horse’s after a stroke with a currying brush.

As Diana finished stropping the small razor, Lauren came at Neal with the shaving lather, daubing it deep into the cleft of Neal’s ass. Peter felt the man suck in his breath.

“You all right?”

Neal nodded. “Yes - I’m fine. It’s cold.”

Peter chuckled and whispered in Neal’s ear. “This is it - once you’ll be done and clean, you come inside. I’ll have a fresh bath drawn for you and shave you myself.” _What the hell was he saying? What was he doing?_

Neal relaxed against him, tucking his head into his neck, his warm breath damping his shoulder, the days old beard rough against his skin.

Diana shaved Neal’s ass with the same detached efficiency that she displayed when she worked her knives against other parts of his body.

“Yer all done, boy.”

Peter reluctantly let go of Neal’s ass and felt a little cold, a little bereft when Neal stepped back. Diana handed him a linen towel and he wiped his hands. Neal grabbed a larger towel from the stack that Hughes had left, winding it around his waist, hiding his freshly shaved glory.

Peter put his shirt back on, but left his leather vest off. He pulled out his purse, desperately ignoring the swollen bulge of his own prick, and took out a few coins for the ladies.

Lauren cleaned and packed up their tools and Diana handed Peter a bottle with a smirk on her face. “This is sweet oil - ye should rub it into yer boy’s pits and his cods and his ass - otherwise he’s he going to itch something fierce when the curlies grow back.”

Peter tried not to smile at the thought of helping Neal with this task. He gave Diana payment for her services and a small vail to Lauren for her assistance. They thanked him and left.

Suddenly, the courtyard seemed too hot, the late afternoon birdsong too loud. Peter was dry-mouthed and ill-at-ease now that he was alone with Caffrey.

“Wait here - I’ll fetch you after I’ve had that bath drawn.”

Neal sat down in the large chair that Peter had vacated. Peter stood there for a moment, watching the man lounge in the sun like a lion in the Royal Menagerie before turning and going into the dark confines of the house.

He had the kitchen staff set more water to heat and once the large copper bathing tub was filled, he dismissed them and fetched Master Caffrey.

* * *

Neal relaxed at last - the last hour had been perhaps the strangest of his life. He was not all that comfortable with sharp edged objects to begin with, despite the fact that he was a passably good swordsman. But getting so damn close to Master Burke - that was an unexpected treat. And to have the evidence that the man enjoyed that contact burning against his naked thigh - that gave him pause.

His cock began to pulse at the memory of Peter’s hands cupped around it, gently holding it as Diana’s clever little razor removed the hair from his balls. _That_ was not an experience he’d want to repeat any time soon. And yet, despite the sense memory of the sharp steel against his jewels, he had a full cockstand at the thought of Master Burke’s calloused palm.

The sun was deliciously warming, chasing the last of the bitter chill of the Fleet from his bones. He eased back into the leather seat and parted his thighs, letting the towel slide until it barely draped his erect cock. Neal drew a hand down his belly, enjoying the sensation of smooth, hairless skin. His fingertips reached the base of his cock, and he let them wander up the underside of his shaft, lingering on the pulse point of the big vein. He stroked himself slowing, lightly, drawing out each sensation. A slight breeze fluttered through the courtyard and his nipples tightened in reaction.

His other hand drifted up, seemingly with a will of its own, and gave a nipple a sharp pinch. The pulse in his cock beat faster in reaction. Neal further tormented that little nub of flesh, working it brutally in contrast to the delicate treatment he gave his cock. His hips shifted upwards, seeking more attention from his palm and fingers, but he played hard to get with himself. As a rough nail cut deep into his nipple, and he used just a single finger to gather the pre-come from the head of his cock, Neal bit his lip to stifle a moan.

It had been so damn long. He had refused to jack himself off in that filthy prison - to do so would invite the attention of the guards or worse - at least until Moz joined him in his cell. And Moz, as good a companion as he was - was far less than sane, and by that time, Neal had little desire for anything short of survival.

But here, in this quiet courtyard, filled with the scent of apple blossoms, the sound of birdsong, and the memory of Peter Burke’s hands on his cock, his balls and his ass, he indulged in self-satisfaction.

He toyed with himself but imagined that the hands on his body were Peter’s, working him over so expertly, so carefully. The man was so big, but when he had held him, he was so damn gentle. Neal licked his lips and tried to imagine what Master Burke’s cock tasted like, what it looked like. He knew that Peter was huge - but was he long and straight and elegant, or was he built like a hammer? Neal clenched his asshole at the thought.

It didn’t take long to bring himself to a very satisfying climax - and as the come erupted from his cock, he couldn’t stop from whispering “Peter.” Stars shot from behind his closed eyelids as he went completely limp.

He laid there for untold minutes - or at least he hoped it was minutes and not seconds, when the sound of a throat clearing interrupted his lassitude. He sat up and squinted into the shadowed darkness of the house - it looked like Peter standing there. Neal wondered how long the man has been observing him - did he watch as he had pleasured himself? Strangely enough, the thought of Burke watching didn’t disturb him. In fact, his cock, suddenly insatiable, gave an interested twinge at the thought.

“Your bath is ready.” Burke’s voice gave nothing away.

Neal surreptitiously used the towel to wipe away the evidence of his climax, and carried it with him into the house. It wasn’t too far to the kitchens and an waiting copper tub filled with steaming hot water.

Neal dropped the towel on the flagstone floor and climbed in. Burke sat on a tall stool and watched him, but Neal was still sun and sexed dazed and couldn’t read the man’s expression.

He relaxed again, sinking deep into the water - up to his chin.

“Comfortable?”

Neal gave a hum of agreement. He was too limp to bother with words. He heard Peter puttering around, and once again the unmistakable sound of a razor being stropped against leather.

“Lean back.”

Neal obeyed, because he could think of no reason not to. As he rested his head against the sloping back of the tub, Peter wrapped a hot towel around his face. Neal almost dozed off, but the shock of the cool air woke him when Peter removed it and start to brush lather onto his face.

“You’ll have to start your beard afresh - I don’t think you’ve got any vermin living in there, but I’d rather not take the risk.”

“Don’t worry about it, with what little coin I could spare, I got shaved in the Fleet.”

“Wise choice.”

Neal relaxed and bared his throat. He felt like the lowest hound in the pack, but he didn’t mind if the pack leader was Peter. He knew he was going to be well cared for.

This shaving, unlike the ones earlier this afternoon, was pure pleasure. Peter’s large, strong fingers gently moving his head, pulling his skin tight, scraping the sharp blade carefully through the stubble, taking particular care not to nick him. He was actually disappointed when he was finished, and he wondered if there was any way that he could have Peter shave him on a regular basis.

His reverie was interrupted by a loud plop and the splash of a ball of soap and a clean wash cloth.

“Finish your bath, Caffrey and get dressed. Meet me in my study. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Peter left him alone to finish washing. The soap was French milled, and smelled of lemons and lavender - much better than the harsh lye bar he’d been given that morning. Neal didn’t linger - the water was getting chilled and he was frankly curious about what Master Burke wanted with him. He knew that he wasn’t going to be able to just walk out of this house. He owned the man - the debt he had cleared was going to need to be repaid, and somehow he didn’t think that Peter was going to accept the Countess of Lyle’s stolen earrings as compensation.

He dried himself off with a clean towel, leaving it on top of the come-stained one, and dressed. The clothes were surprisingly fine - black leather breeches, a white linen shirt and black vest, and a pair of new black boots. A short black cloak completed his attire - and Neal felt fine enough for Court.

He wished he had a mirror, and considered trying to get a better look at himself in the polished copper of one of the hanging pans, but Peter was waiting for him.

* * *

Pacing back and forth and around his small study, Peter clenched his jaw against his own impatience.

Caffrey was going to be a problem for him - a big problem. But at this point, there was nothing he could do about it. He made his choice when he paid off the debt to Dudley - and he wasn’t going to let Neal go free - only to wreck his life again.

No - Neal Caffrey was going to be kept on a very short leash for a very long time. And whether or not he was going to survive holding that leash was another story altogether.

Desire rode him hard today - and it didn’t help that that when he went to fetch Caffrey from the courtyard, the man had been indulging in self-abuse. He hoped he was mistaken, and Neal hadn’t been saying his name as he came in his own hand. When the day had started - he figured that he’d work his way through his own desires, relying on a certain rejection from Caffrey - but now … now it seemed that Neal wanted him too.

Peter sat down at his desk and contemplated the bottle of sweet oil - it represented everything that could go so disastrously wrong. And he laughed - _could?_ It was as inevitable as the dawn that Neal was going to end up on his knees with his cock in his mouth, or under him, in his bed. His whole body clenched at the thought of plowing that ass.

Peter willed the salacious thoughts from his mind and pulled out a sheet of paper from underneath the blotter on his desk. He had this contract drawn up before he retrieved Neal from the Fleet.

A knock on the door frame interrupted his thoughts. It was Caffrey, resplendent in black leather - looking as extraordinary as he thought he would.

“Take a seat, Neal.”

Neal complied with gratifying alacrity. Peter said nothing, letting him sit there. He watched as Neal began to fidget and smirked as Neal grew more and more uncomfortable in the silence.

Satisfied that he could maintain the upper hand, he handed Neal the sheet of foolscap. He waited a few moments for Neal to digest the contents.

“You understand what this is?”

Neal looked at him, his eyes large, his face grave. “Yes - Articles of Indenture.”

“I’ve paid a great deal of money for your freedom, and my expenses to keep you will continue to mount.”

Neal didn’t say anything.

“With simple interest, and based on what you could reasonably expect to earn from your skills as an artist, I’ve calculated that it will take you at least four years to repay the money I laid out for your debt to Dudley.”

“Dudley cheated.”

“You can’t prove that - not now, not after so long.” Peter watched Neal’s face - there was anger there. But acceptance too.

“If I don’t agree to sign this? What happens then.”

Peter knew what Neal was asking.

“I _will_ dump you back in the Fleet - you’ll have no resources and I somehow think that your cellmate won’t be so eager to take you back.”

Neal wasn’t sure about that last assertion, but he didn’t want to test it. “You put me back, you’ll have no chance to get your money back.”

“I know - that’s the conundrum of debtor’s prison. But I’m not going to be made a fool and just let you run lose.”

“You don’t think that I could get the funds to repay you?”

Peter gave a skeptical laugh. “You’d have to find a buyer for the Countess of Lyle’s earrings.” He watched as Neal’s eyes went wide. “Yes - I know about that, and all your other dirty little schemes. You have a choice - the Fleet - or Newgate or worse, or you can work for me. Which is it?”

Neal didn’t take any time to think - the choice was obvious. He reached for the quill and the pot of ink, dipped the pen and scrawled his name across the bottom of the page. He handed the Articles back to Peter, and he signed and sealed them with a flourish.

Peter grinned - enjoying the satisfaction of having Neal under his complete control.

“I own you, for the next four years.”

Neal looked at him, and for the first time there was some unease in his gaze. Peter didn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> I also feel the need to explain why I’ve made the very strong women of canonical WC into prostitutes. In Elizabethan England, there were few alternatives, other than prostitution for women (low born or high) who wished to live independently of menfolk - even with a female monarch. I mean no disrespect to either character or to my own gender. I am, at the advise of my dear friend, Coffeethyme4me reclaiming and empowering a negative word with positive connotations.


End file.
